


Grand Theft Arthropod

by razboinicul_iernii



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: ALLEGEDLY, Ableism, Animal Welfare, Bathroom Closed Due to Lobsters, Bonding Brainwashees, Bucky Barnes & Clint Barton Friendship, Confused Bucky Barnes, Deaf Clint Barton, Gen, Humor, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, POV Clint Barton
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-04
Updated: 2016-10-04
Packaged: 2018-08-19 14:11:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8211364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/razboinicul_iernii/pseuds/razboinicul_iernii
Summary: "His mom used to tell him that when you die and face Saint...uh, whoever, the guy at the gates, well, he'll have a book of your life. And he'll look at it and see all the stuff you've done. Good, bad, boring, gross, kind of weird, kind of funny, whatever, it'll all be there. Clint figured there'll be pages, chapters, novels, dedicated to the stupid things he's done and this is probably going to have a lot of heaven-ink dedicated to it. But it's Bucky and he is Clint. Like Steve-lite, he melts into a puddle at the sound of Bucky's 'but this thing makes me sad' voice. So what was the cause for the use of that voice this time?Lobsters."Or: Bucky sees a tank of lobsters at the grocery store and Clint deals with the fallout.





	

Maybe this hadn't been the greatest idea. It was a thought that struck him as the world seemed to move in slow motion for a brief moment. There was himself, shoving open the door. A few meters ahead, there was Bucky, pushing his way through a crowd of confused onlookers. And then behind them was a security guard from the grocery store they'd just been in, calling after them with threats of arrest when the real police got there. Like they were sticking around for that. In Clint's defense, life was pretty unpredictable, even more so when you're trying to bond with a fellow member of Brainwashees Anonymous.

His mom used to tell him that when you die and face Saint...uh, whoever, the guy at the gates, well, he'll have a book of your life. And he'll look at it and see all the shit you've done. Good, bad, boring, gross, kind of weird, kind of funny, whatever, it'll all be there. Clint figured there'll be pages, chapters, _novels_ , dedicated to the stupid things he's done and this is probably going to have a lot of heaven-ink dedicated to it. But it's Bucky and he is Clint. Like Steve-lite, he melts into a puddle at the sound of Bucky's 'but this thing makes me sad' voice. So what was the cause for the use of that voice this time?

Lobsters.

It'd been like five something in the afternoon, right? He was hungry. You get hungry around dinner time so that part made sense. He was keeping an eye on Bucky for Steve because he was still adjusting. He really wasn't supposed to go out and about on his own. Did Clint really need to give reasons for that? But he didn't like thinking of it as 'watching' him or babysitting or whatever because Bucky wasn't a baby. He was just confused. A little messed-A lot messed up and it was more like a friend looking out for a friend who was recovering from an accident or something. But nobody just gets 'accidentally' experimented on and turned into a killing machine who is then suddenly thrust out into the world he knows little about except where to stick sharp things to end a life the fastest way possible so yeah. It was a difficult situation to summarize.

Anyway, Steve was busy with world saving or a parade or maybe Playgirl really needed a patriotic yet tasteful centerfold for next July or who knew. Whatever it was Steve does. So Clint offered to hang out with Bucky for a couple days. Kids and wife were visiting the _other_ side of the family. Not his thing. So he was okay staying behind because well, somebody's gotta watch the dog, honey, and your mom hates me anyway because her daughter married someone who worked at _a circus_ for God's sake and he's _disabled_ for God's sake what if your kids get what he has? Never mind how many times he'd gently explained to the woman that his deafness was a result of an accident. You know, those things that could happen to anybody at anytime through no fault of their own. But she didn't seem to grasp that. Well, she didn't grasp sign language either so he could curse at her to her face and tell her it meant the dinner was wonderful and only his son would giggle because he knew all the bad words and his wife would give him **that look** but it was worth it.

Okay, again, anyway. Clint was on his own for about a week so he headed out to Manhattan to visit friends of his own, Lucky in tow. And, well, maybe he had a shred, a little, a lot, a mountain of curiosity about how Bucky was holding up. He'd met him before. Thankfully post-HYDRA tenure. Bucky didn't always respond to Bucky then, unless you were looking him right in the face so it was very, very apparent you meant you, yes you, guy with the metal arm. He was mostly quiet and didn't speak unless spoken to and he ate literally whatever you put in front of him. Maybe Tony shouldn't have had a little fun with that by making him eat increasingly gross things until Steve's angry cry of, "Tony!" pierced the air and he took away the sardines with their little heads peeking out of the spaghetti noodles and dripping with canned turkey gravy. Bucky watched it all happen without protest and Steve said he was sorry over and over and Bucky clearly didn't understand. Steve gave him real food to get the taste out of his mouth and Bucky tentatively asked what was the difference between real food and unreal food and Tony burst into obnoxious laughter that made Steve give him **that look.**

Okay, again, one more time, anyway. It got him thinking, dinner time was dinner time and he was hungry but he didn't feel like cooking. He knew what he wanted and he knew he could, by virtue of currently staying at Stark's place, have any of the fanciest shit his heart desired delivered right to the door. But he wanted to get out of the place for a bit. And he wanted those totally garbage frozen chicken strips with the spicy sauce with a good cold beer to wash it down with. Tony wasn't here so he didn't have to grab some standard but kind of meh brand he actually didn't care much for just to irritate and offend Stark's refined palate. So he could pick what he really wanted. Unless Bucky turned out to be some kind of beer snob too. But he wasn't really betting on that, even if the image of a HYDRA agent shouting about microbrew IPAs at a thrashing prisoner strapped to a gurney made him shake his head at his own screwed up imagination.

They'd just wrapped up maybe the fourth documentary in a row and it was about all Clint could take. He was used to watching shit he had no interest in because, well, he had kids. But at least the cartoons were colorful and loud and obnoxious. The documentaries were less so. One had been okay. One of those Planet Earth things. It was about ocean life and Clint had muttered at one point "There's some fucked up shit in the ocean," and Bucky said, after some seemingly intense consideration, "Yeah," and that made Clint laugh. The others, it was like someone had just put Netflix on random and something came on and Bucky didn't bother to change it. Or maybe he didn't know he could. Maybe he was just testing everything, seeing what interested him or what didn't.

This last documentary had been about people who played Scrabble competitively and it was the most boring thing Clint had ever had to sit through and he'd sat through Frozen enough times to sing the god damn song backwards. He asked Bucky when it started, "You know what Scrabble is?" And Bucky simply shook his head but kept watching anyway because information was information and someone still needed to teach him that yes, some of it was useless and he didn't have to know it. But then, Clint decided, maybe that wasn't it. When everything you consume and learn and are allowed to know is meticulously measured out for you and you are kept from learning any other things than those deemed 'necessary', no, actively punished for it, maybe a boring ass Scrabble documentary feels like a miracle to you. It's new. You're allowed to have that. Allowed to take in a list of 'q-without-u-words' or whatever and file it away for whenever you think that might be necessary, or allowed to decide you can forget it because really, when will that _ever_ be necessary? So he let Bucky have his boring documentaries. Let him decide what he wanted to see, even if it was every single thing humanly possible.

After that wrapped up, he'd asked Bucky, "Wanna get something to eat?" And Bucky nodded. Nods were better because when he spoke he sometimes still kept up the whole 'no sir, yes sir, i don't know sir' thing and it made Clint feel like crap. Bucky never looked sad or hurt or like a fragile little flower about to collapse under the weight of its own tears or whatever. He looked neutral or often confused. And that was way worse than any crying because at least if something cried you knew it understood it'd been _wronged_. Clint was sure Bucky _had_ feelings. But he was also sure he'd been told for seventy years straight that he wasn't supposed to. He imagined what life would be like if you were hurt every time you admitted to feeling something, how hard it must be to suddenly be told you can feel whatever you want. It's a hell of a u-turn to make.

"Know what you want?" Clint knew what he wanted, of course. But he wasn't recovering from being conditioned to enjoying the privilege of bland mashed potatoes or some gritty drink with protein powder in it.

Bucky shook his head no, as he often did when asked if he wanted something in particular. He was still obviously working out what he enjoyed and what he didn't, if he was _allowed_ to enjoy things or not, but Clint didn't push the issue like Steve did. Steve, man he felt bad for Steve because he clearly took all this the hardest and why wouldn't he? This _was_ his best friend here, turned into some barely recognizable facsimile of James Barnes, blankly eating sardines in spaghetti with a gravy sauce like it didn't taste like puke. It almost hurt, the way Steve would ask Buck like it was a point by point list, "Do you want x? How about y? Z?" And never getting anything back but 'i don't know sir'. It'd come in time, he wanted to tell Steve. But he also knew that wasn't the sort of answer Steve was going to accept. He'd feel too useless if he wasn't actively working on the issue but the issue wasn't something he could fix. Bucky had to, through a ton of trial and error at experiencing things and figuring out how they felt.

"Okay. Let's go to the store." Bucky followed him down to the garage and Clint kinda hated driving around New York but when you've stopped an alien invasion and a robot uprising you just kind of suck it up and learn to do things you hate. "Okay," he said again, like he was officiating the fact that he was changing conversational tracks. "Here's something nobody may've taught you. _Always_ tap the hood of your car before you get in." He did so with his left hand as he passed the hood to get to the driver's side door. "Sometimes cats crawl under there and-"

There was a sharp, loud, awful noise of squealing metal and it reverberated loudly through the parking garage and someone a floor or two up even shouted, " _What the hell was that?"_ but it was distant so Clint kind of ignored it for now to focus on something else. Bucky had smacked the hood of the car like Clint instructed. Only he also did it with his left hand and now there was a massive dent in the hood of Tony's very nice sports car. Bucky withdrew his hand slowly.

"Oops," Clint said.

"Oops?" Bucky echoed, like he wanted clarification.

"Oops," Clint confirmed with a nod. It wasn't as bad as it had sounded. Probably so noisy because of the whole metal on metal thing. He popped the hood just to be certain nothing had been damaged and it was all fine. He waved his hand at Bucky who stood by like he was awaiting orders on how to undo what he'd just broken. "It's okay. Just superficial. It'll come right out with, uh, one of those-" He snapped his fingers like he was summoning the words as a magic trick. "Pop-a-dent things. Stark'll get over it."

Bucky didn't argue with Clint's proclamation so they got in the car. He flipped on the radio and of course this being Stark's car meant it had to talk to him. And he had to talk back. And he messed up a few times trying to find a classic rock station until finally he just said fuck it play Floyd and let it put random songs on for him. Wasn't that long of a drive anyway, it was just too freaking cold to walk very far.

Clint drove responsibly, even if he was in this fancy jalopy that could probably go zero to sixty in the blink of an eye. He wasn't interested in being pulled over by a cop with a wanted terrorist in the passenger seat. He thought that was bullshit, by the way, the warrant out for Bucky. The crap he got. Brainwashing was brainwashing, even if people wanted to deny it. They just were submitting to that animal instinct to blame _someone_ for all the stuff that happened. Bucky needed help, not handcuffs. He glanced over at him while he thought about that before he got too irritated. The Winter Soldier nee Barnes sat up straight, stared right ahead out the windshield, perfectly still, feet exactly hip width apart, hands on his thighs.

It was weird. He wanted to call him a weirdo. That was unfair. But come on. Normal people bounce their legs. Pick at hangnails. Run their fingers in their gorgeous L'oreal hair. Look out the window at shit and comment about it. Hum. Nod their head. Tap their fingers. They do _something._ But Bucky wasn't normal, not yet, so it was unfair to expect that kind of behavior from him. The wailing of the wild and uninhibited vocals on _Great Gig in the Sky_ brought him back from his judgmental little reverie and he let out a little sigh. Kind of contented, kind of not. He felt funky. "It's good," he said, nodding at the radio. "Good stuff."

"She sounds like she's dying."

Clint laughed. "Okay, well, maybe a little. But maybe that's the point of the song. Just putting it all out there. All that messy...kind of crappy feeling. That's an important thing to do you know, let things out. Nothing enjoys being caged up, feelings included."

"Oh."

He didn't know if Bucky understood or not but he didn't press the issue. Clint parallel parked like it was nobody's business and for a brief second he wished someone else was in the car with them so he could brag. It really did look like something out of Fast and Furious or something, but it was fine. He got out of the car and looked at the dent again and sucked on his teeth a little. Maybe it was a bit worse than he thought. Whatever. Couldn't see it from his house. He chucked some quarters in the meter and told Bucky, "You always gotta pay attention when you put quarters in a machine. Sometimes they just eat them."

"Eat them?"

"I mean, they take them but then act like you didn't put anything in. If that's the case, you don't want to use that machine. You'll just waste all your quarters."

"Oh."

He stopped a second, then asked, "How do you interpret what I just told you?"

Bucky let his head tilt a little bit. Then he said, "If something's broken you don't waste resources on it."

Clint considered it and while it sounded a bit more morbid than a meter eating quarters, he shrugged and let it slide.

Sometimes Clint liked farmer's markets. All the freshness, the morningness, the diner where you could imagine the chickens pooped their eggs out right onto the griddle before ending up in front of you. Other times he liked the weird street vendors with their random assortments of shit under a tarp or whatever with hand written signs with stuff misspelled. But there were times where he just wanted your basic straight forward grocery store and the processed junk that comes out of it. So that's where he was now, wondering with an empty stomach just how colorful his crap would be the next day if he really went through with bundling Gushers inside of a Fruit Roll up and mummifying it with a Fruit by the Foot. His basket of goods was basically just a load of junk but no one was here to judge him. No one but Bucky who was only just getting the hang of judging people so Clint figured he should use up these last moments before they were gone and Bucky was calling him an ass along with everybody else.

He sighed at his own stupidity as he swiped the Gushers and the Roll Ups and the Foots into the basket and moved on. Why have real fruit when you can have things that claim to be flavored like real fruit but weren't? He had to get out of the aisle before he found some other garbage he didn't really need and he glanced towards the produce section. But that was so far. Who had the time to go all the way over there? Three whole aisles away, lost cause, moving on.

So maybe he'd already been looking for a distraction from his own lack of willpower and Bucky provided one. He was staring at the lobster tank in the middle of the aisle, the one on the end of one of the meat coolers. Clint watched him to see if he'd do anything but he just kept staring down into the gently rippling water. So Clint approached, sidled up beside him, and looked into the tank too. There were about six lobsters in there, bright neon rubber bands on their claws, weird little antenna things waving around. Lobsters were fucking weird. They looked like roaches. And here they were, just hanging out in the middle of a place where having roaches would normally get you a citation of some kind. He shrugged and looked over at Bucky, "What's going on?"

"They're in here."

"Yeah. They're aquatic."

"Yeah." He stared some more before finally looking at Clint. "But this is a place for _food_."

Clint raised his eyebrows and he had a feeling he knew what was coming. "Yep."

"They're alive."

"Yeah. People buy them, take em home and cook em."

"Lobsters feel pain."

"That's debatable," Clint said.

"No," Bucky said. "I read it."

"Where?" One always had to be cautious about BuckyFacts(tm) because he was still getting the hang of what pages on the internet were reputable and which were created by crazy people. He recalled the accusatory, probing texts from Nat when Bucky somehow ended up divulging the secrets of the timecube to Sam one day. And Clint _really_ hadn't had anything to do with that one. His money was on Tony.

Bucky continued without citing his sources, "People boil them alive and they feel every second of it until they die. But they can't say no, so people think it's okay."

Clint shifted his weight uncomfortably. He liked animals. But he ate some of them too and didn't necessarily think that was wrong. But okay he could kind of see the case for not boiling something alive. Maybe that was why lobster tended to have such a high price tag.

"I want-" Bucky said suddenly, eyes darting around the store. There were people around of course. The butcher was talking to somebody. A lady was shopping for chicken on the other end of the cooler. Some kids were arguing over gatorade flavors on the aisle to their left. "I want to save them."

Clint was torn between laughing and sighing. Bucky had said it so sincerely, what other option was left? Before he could say something like 'they're just lobsters, and there's a whole industry revolving around eating them so saving these six won't mean much in the end', Bucky was reaching into the tank and shoving a squirming lobster into the inside pocket of his jacket. "That's not a good idea," Clint whispered calmly.

"They'll be in pain if we don't save them."

"Since when did this become _we?_ " Cint asked, glancing around to see if anyone had noticed.

"Don't you want to keep them from hurting?" And there it was, Bucky's 'this makes me sad' voice that Clint didn't stand a chance against. Because who could say no to a guy who'd spent seventy years in a tank and treated like meat, trying to save giant roaches from spending seventy hours in a tank before being pulled out and treated like meat?

So Clint said good bye to his Fruit Roll Up by the Foot Gusher, set his basket with the chicken strips and beer on the floor, and reached into the tank. He sighed at himself and his own malleable nature as he felt a wet spot spreading against the lining of his jacket. "Fine, but you owe me."

"What do I owe you?" Bucky asked as he slid the third lobster into the hood of his sweatshirt.

"When I think of it, you'll know," Clint said, struggling to stuff the second lobster in his pocket. He'd never felt so funky in his life and he'd once been out of control of his own _brain_.

"That's okay," Bucky said, shoving the fourth lobster up his left sleeve and then crossing his arms over his chest. "I will owe you."

Clint snorted at the weird way he said that but was too focused on the squirmy, weird, creepy lobster feeling in his jacket to correct him with something more casual. Both sides, with the prickly little freaky bug legs. Like Indiana Jones and snakes, he had to wonder, why did it have to be arthropods? He let a breath out through his nose and mumbled to himself, "Why am I doing this?"

He always forgot about Steve-and now Bucky's-somewhat superhuman hearing. So Bucky answered, "Because you said you would."

"I say a lot of things." Clint glanced up as an employee walked by. He gave a smile and a nod when the employee greeted them. Nothing significant happened. Then they left the relative shelter of the aisle and had to pass through the gauntlet of the checkout lines to get to the exit. There was a security guard by the door. Not your TV garden variety overweight kind either. He looked like he could keep up with them if they had to run for it.

A surprised kind of squeal escaped him and he jerked to the left when the lobster in his right interior pocket suddenly snapped at his rib cage. What the hell kind of shitty rubber bands were they giving out in this joint? A couple people glanced his way, and he shrugged. "Forgot I put my phone on vibrate, you know?" he offered even if his head told him to shut up and not say anything. But he wasn't a thief. He didn't like stealing. But Bucky phrased it like it was a rescue and God was he really going to try to convince himself to see things the same way as a guy who had very restricted contact with society for seven decades?

The lobster snapped at his ribs again as if to confirm, yes Clint Barton, you are that much of an idiot.

Clint ignored the thoughts and looked up at Bucky, who was making a determined beeline for the door. His hands were balled into fists and crossed tight over his chest as he attempted to hide the bulging sleeves where the lobsters squirmed. Clint felt his eyebrow shoot up of its own accord when he saw the one in Bucky's hood writhe and flail its freaky little legs skyward. It was going to roll its way out of the hood any second, right in front of the security guard who was eyeing them. Clint was sure the guy gave everyone a once-over on their way out, suspicious or otherwise. But most people probably didn't have their coats lined with lobsters. Most people weren't that damn stupid.

Clint did what he could and threw and arm around Bucky's shoulders. Bucky jerked back a little, throwing him an obviously concerned look, but Clint managed to shove hood-lobster up at an angle to prevent it from rolling away, for now at least. A quick fix just to get them out the door.

Too bad that sudden movement just made rib-lobster decide to go to town. He choked back a grunt of pain when it snipped at him again. The guard noticed, eyes sweeping over Clint and apparently catching the movement under his jacket. He stepped in front of the door and waved a finger at them but before he could even open his mouth, Bucky swept him up by the collar and shoved him away. "Stop!" Clint hissed through clenched teeth but it was too late. The guard was already shouting at them, stumbling backwards. Bucky shot out the door, snatching the wriggling lobster out of his hood with one hand and holding his jacket shut with the other.

Clint let out a sigh but he really had no one to blame but himself here. "Wait for me!" Clint shouted after Bucky, who apparently forgot that not everyone runs at twice the speed of a normal human being. Some of the people on the street parted for them, others had to be notified more abruptly by Bucky shoving them out of their way. And still the god damn rib-lobster continued to assault him. Clint let out another huff of pained breath before snapping back the only way he could, verbally. "Ow! I'm saving you, you little asshole!" He crossed the right side of his jacket over the left, hoping the extra layer would keep the thing from snapping at him some more.

The blaring of car horns made him look up sharply. Bucky had dashed into the street to the car they'd borrowed. He was currently on top of an SUV that looked like it had barely managed to break before hitting him, the driver flailing wildly and shouting. Bucky jumped off of it, skidding to a halt beside their own car and Clint took the time to _avoid_ moving vehicles instead of just treating them like a barrel in a game of Donkey Kong. He glanced back over his shoulder and saw the security guard following them, still calling out about cops being on their way.

Clint had the car unlocked before he slammed into it. He scrabbled for the handle, maybe a little more giddy than he should be, and as soon as the thing was turned on, they were out of there. He let out a whoop as they swerved around some lighter traffic, seeing the security guard get smaller in the rear view mirror. That was a good thing. He grinned at Bucky. "Man you sure know how to party."

Bucky seemed uninterested in accolades. "Your lobsters. Are they okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, but the one on my right side keeps jabbing me. Can you get it?" He wanted to touch the damn things as little as possible. Bucky reached over without complaint and took it out of Clint's jacket. Now he was just sitting there with a lobster in each hand and his usual stone faced neutral expression. Clint figured no one could really blame him for suddenly bursting into laughter at a sight like that. Bucky made no complaints about it, anyway.

No cops followed them back to Stark's place, and Clint figured NYPD probably had better criminals to chase down than lobster-thieves. Jarvis, however, didn't, so it wasn't all that long before Stark came moseying into the common room, threw open the closed bathroom door(which Bucky had so considerately attached a sign to that read _temporarily closed due to lobsters),_ and pointed inside before saying, "Why?"

Bucky didn't look up from his tablet, where he was still researching what should be done with the lobsters. They'd already dug up just about every ounce of salt in the place to make the water safe, so Clint hoped the little bastards were enjoying their weekend at the spa. Natasha, the only other person in the room until now, fixed Clint with a stare that was ordering him to explain. Steve and Sam trailed in after Stark and Clint knew right away that they were aware of the makeshift marine life sanctuary in the bathroom just by the looks on their faces. So Clint sighed and took the wheel. "Right, I forgot to tell you, there's a lobster in the toilet."

" _Why?_ " Tony asked again.

"We're saving them," Bucky answered.

"Not in the _toilet,_ " Tony said back like this was obvious. And Clint supposed it kind of was. You don't shit where you eat and you don't put your eats where you shit.

But Bucky just shrugged as if his response were equally obvious. "He needed a water source."

Sam snorted at that. Tony stared incredulously at Bucky and he gestured back towards the bathroom. "There's a perfectly good thing, called, uh, a tub?"

"The other five are occupying the tub. This one requires temporary isolation due to his aggressive nature," Bucky responded without looking up from the tablet. His eyebrows drew together marginally, and Clint thought he might dive into how all of this had happened. But then he just said, "Did you know lobsters urinate from their faces?" There was a pause as he let everyone consider this information. Clint cringed a little, wondering if Tony had good recommendations for thorough dry cleaners in the area. Then Bucky concluded in his normal, neutral tone of voice, "There is some fucked up shit in the ocean."

Sam laughed and Steve stared. Tony also stared but less with Steve's look of concern and more like he thought Bucky'd gone insane. Clint cleared his throat and took it upon himself to explain because Bucky clearly didn't get why anyone might be confused about this whole thing, "He saw them at the grocery store and felt bad for them, okay? So they're here until we figure out where to dump them."

"You felt bad...for lobsters...the roaches of the sea?" Tony asked, hands moving with each new noun like he was constructing the sentence in front of them.

Bucky actually mustered up an almost-glare and Clint could've patted him on the shoulder for it. There was something to be said about taking that long to figure out glaring while existing under the same roof as Stark. "They would be hurt. I didn't want that to happen."

"What do you think life is like in the ocean?"

"Mature lobsters don't have predators, except for humans," Bucky answered.

"They'll just be caught again-"

"So they shouldn't try to live at all?" And Bucky definitely _snapped_ that sentence, angrily, even, and interrupting Tony to boot. It was the bold kind of move Bucky had had beaten out of him, so it had everybody in the room looking at him. That didn't escape his notice. His cheeks were suddenly tinged red and he put all his attention back into the tablet. "Leave me alone. Please."

Tony looked like he was about to say one thing but closed his mouth briefly before deciding on another. "Good luck with your lobsters," Tony said, heading for the door. Bucky wouldn't look at him and Clint couldn't decide if it was because he was so upset or too ashamed about telling him to leave. But Tony stopped anyway and said with some of that rare sincerity that peeked through every now and then, "And I mean it, you know."

There was an awkward silence after that before Steve finally said, "Hey, Buck, you know Tony didn't mean anything-"

"Do you have a cooler? Or a large bucket?" Bucky asked quickly with a laser focus on the tablet. Clint could see from here that nothing on it had changed in the past few minutes so Bucky wasn't actually reading it.

"We can get one but look," Steve said, voice turning to that all too familiar 'the only parent in a room full of kids' tone. "Stealing isn't a good idea, remember?" Clint heard they'd had some difficulty getting Bucky to figure out what counted as stealing. Given that the only time the guy used to ever see food was when it was for him, he got where the confusion came from. It must've been bizarre to be thrust into a grocery store that looked like it had enough to feed the whole city and have someone tell you that you couldn't take any unless you had money, a thing you barely remembered ever using.

But Bucky apparently didn't think this counted. This was a rescue operation to him, not theft. "They would be put in pain."

"I know, but this is still stealing. We could always pay for the lobsters and then go let them back in the ocean...or...wherever," Steve said, waving eastward.

"Would you want someone to pay your executioner?" Bucky asked.

"Lobsters don't _want_ anything," Sam put in and Clint placed it. He finally understood Sam's role in their group now. He was the only other parent in the room full of kids. No wonder he and Steve got on so well. "They don't have the same kind of set up as other animals."

This seemed to only distress Bucky further. "I wouldn't steal other food. Just ones that would be hurt," he said, like he could bargain his way out of their scolding.

"You shouldn't steal anything," Steve said.

"You stole me from HYDRA." Clint felt his own sort-of amused grin drop out like someone had flipped a switch on him and the whole room was dead silent. Even Nat had quit chewing her gum. Was anyone even _breathing?_

"No," Steve said gently and the world started turning again. "We helped you. It's very different. You were kidnapped and held there against your will."

Bucky still wouldn't budge on the matter. "The lobsters were kidnapped and held against their will..."

"Lobsters don't _have_ much of a will," Steve tried but it was kind of obvious he didn't know a lot about the subject. Not that Clint was an expert on the latest cutting edge theories about crustacean consciousness. "It's like Sam said. They don't really have complex brains like we do."

"How do you know? Have you ever _been_ a lobster?" Bucky asked and Clint would've laughed if it weren't so sad how wound up Bucky was over the subject. He sounded like Clint's kid.

"They've done research," Sam said.

Finally defeated, Bucky set down the tablet and stopped feigning interest in it. His hands were flat on the table and he kept his eyes down as he spoke. "I just didn't want them to die."

"And I don't want you to get into trouble," Steve said back. "Stealing is bad enough. But if someone caught you stealing the lobsters, you could've been noticed." Clint knew Steve had a lot of difficulty talking about the matter without every other word becoming a swear. The Winter Soldier was a wanted man. Even if people sympathized with the whole brainwashed POW thing, pretty much everyone seemed to think he needed to be put away somewhere. The question was where-a padded cell, or the solitary confinement room of the world's most secure and isolated prison? Either way, it wasn't a subject that anyone generally discussed around Steve or Bucky for obvious reasons. "What do you think would happen if you'd been arrested for stealing?"

Bucky remained silent, but it was pretty obvious in his frowning, disappointed expression that he knew what would happen. He wouldn't be given a slap on the wrist for being a first-time offender, that much was for damn sure.

"If you're interested in animal welfare, there's other, legal things you can do," Natasha put in. She probably figured Bucky had gotten enough of an earful of what he'd done wrong, so she was offering something he could do right. "Protests, donations to certain charities and organizations, volunteering."

"They would notice," Bucky said, drumming the fingers of his left hand once on the table.

She quirked a small smile. "I know a thing or two about hiding in plain sight." Clint remembered the first time SHIELD had introduced the photostatic veil and the stupid hour-long impression-fest he and Nat had in the break room when no one was around. She was a terribly convincing Margaret Thatcher. Needless to say, SHIELD started keeping a pretty sharp eye on those things, given the havoc they could wreak.

Bucky glanced at Steve, like he was looking for approval. So Steve said, "Seems like a good idea to me."

"Much safer than bolting down Park Street at rush hour with lobsters shoved down your pants," Sam added.

"Hey," Clint said, lifting a finger in correction. "They were stuffed in our jackets, not our pants, okay?" He didn't have to look at Nat to know she'd just rolled her eyes before popping another bubble of gum.

"Okay, so we're clear on this?" Steve asked. He looked back and forth between Clint and Bucky. "No more stealing anything? Even lobsters?"

Bucky nodded slowly, like he was still hesitant to commit to that promise. Clint held up a couple fingers like a boy scout. "You want us to swear on a Bible or anything?" Then he flinched and muttered, "ow," when Nat's paperback smacked into the back of his head.

The talk left them with just one more matter to figure out, and that was where to actually _deposit_ the stolen lobsters. Sam offered up the solution after Steve had thrown out a few duds. Coastlines that weren't all that occupied in his day were built up with rich seaside McMansions or whatever, so the place Sam came up with was a welcome suggestion. Being that it was so cold out, the beaches weren't terribly busy and they all probably looked like a troupe of weirdos lugging out a cooler and everything onto the shore with the wind stinging their faces. They got the freaky little bastards back out into the ocean with a quickness, and even if it was one of the more ridiculous, if benign, scenarios that made up his life, it felt a little satisfying to watch them disappear into the frothy water.

Whatever satisfaction he felt seemed to pale in comparison with Bucky's. The guy in question still didn't smile often, so when he did, you tended to notice. It was something he'd gone through while making friends with Natasha, too, only it was less that she never smiled and more that the smiles she tended to give were never genuine. So he had an eye for that kind of thing. He looked at Bucky, who was staring at the water for a good few minutes after the last sea-bug had vanished, and he saw the corners of his lips tilt upward. Steve put a hand on his shoulder, though Clint couldn't see his face so well from this angle, but he seemed relaxed too. And that wasn't something you got to see in Captain America all that often.

So all in all, by the end of it, he was pretty okay with these couple pages in the book of his life for Saint Whoever to read at the Pearly Gates. He'd certainly done worse things in his life than save lobsters from dinner plates with ex-assassins. As they left the beach, Bucky sidled up beside Clint and said, "Thanks."

Clint smacked him on the back with a grin. "Hey, I'm just happy they made it back out there where they belong with their friends and stuff."

Bucky's eyes dropped to the sand as they shuffled through it, but he ultimately nodded, small smile still on his lips. It probably shouldn't mean that much, but it made Clint feel pretty good about the whole minor fiasco. Plus, the Winter Soldier owed him a favor now. He just needed the time to think of something worthwhile. And it definitely wouldn't involve any kind of arthropods.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://tchakaflocka.tumblr.com) :)))


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